


Thirty Acres

by Jo (jmathieson)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 22:22:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmathieson/pseuds/Jo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick has a talk with Clint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thirty Acres

**Author's Note:**

> To celebrate having 100 followers on Tumblr, I had them throw prompts at me all day, **selori** asked: Have we seen Fury's reaction to Phil with Clint? If not, I'd like to see him "finding out."

Nick Fury came striding onto the range, coat flapping, one eye looking hard and dangerous. Clint paused in the middle of drawing an arrow.

"Barton, with me."

Clint didn’t question, just put his gear down and followed. The range master would take care of his bow.

Fury led him to the motor pool where a long black car was waiting, engine idling. Fury motioned for Clint to get in, so he did.

Clint waited while Fury climbed in behind him, said, “Go” to the driver, and then settled into his seat. Clint waited while Fury didn’t say anything, just turned his head to look out the window. Clint sat, looking straight ahead, hands on his knees.

He couldn’t think of anything that he had fucked up particularly badly lately. Phil was in his office, doing prep for a mission, so it had nothing to do with him. Clint wondered if Fury needed him to take someone out, off the record.

The car pulled up in front of a small bar on a narrow street. At two o’clock in the afternoon it was empty save for the bartender and a lone drunk at one end of the bar, watching a football game with the sound turned off.

Fury stopped at the bar, and leaned over it to speak to the bartender. Clint stood behind him, tense, taking in every detail of his surroundings, ready to run or fight or… whatever.

The bartender pulled a bottle from the back of a shelf, poured two healthy slugs, and handed the glasses to Fury. Fury took them and headed for the back of the bar. He sat at a small table, put the drinks down, and motioned for Clint to sit.

Clint sat.

Fury stared at him for a minute, then picked up his drink and gestured for Clint to do the same. Fury took a sip. Clint did too.

Clint didn’t know a whole lot about whiskey but this one smelled and tasted very expensive.

"Phillip Coulson is one of my oldest and dearest friends," Fury said.

Clint very carefully didn’t let his hand shake as he put his glass back down on the table.

"And if you break his heart, I will make you wish you’d never been born. Is that understood?"

Clint took a breath, looked Fury straight in the eye, and said, “Yes, sir.”

"Good." Fury paused. Then he grinned. Then he laughed. "You, Clint Barton, have got a pair of brass ones. There’s not one man in a thousand that wouldn’t shit himself just looking at me like that, but you’re one of them. Cheese did good." Fury laughed again, and picked up his drink and took another sip.

"I meant it, though. He’s my friend and I don’t want to see him get hurt."

"All due respect, sir, if I hurt him, I won’t give a shit what you do to me. I…" Clint took a deep breath. He hadn’t said this to anyone other than Phil, yet, not even Nat, though he was pretty sure she already knew. "I love him."

Fury regarded him for a minute, then said,

"Right answer. Drink up."


End file.
